


I Wanna Teach You A Lesson In The Worst Kinda Way

by soncnica



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Begging, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Bladder Control, Bottom Dean, Coming Untouched, Crying, Crying Dean, Desperation, Desperation Play, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Kissing, Licking, M/M, No Sex, Object Insertion, POV Alternating, Praise, Punishment, Season/Series 06, Top Sam, Touching, Trust, Trust Kink, catheter, kind of not really watersports, not intended humiliation, spit, tiny bit of fingering and rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:44:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soncnica/pseuds/soncnica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anything you say can and will be held against you, so only say my name, it will be held against you …</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Supernatural Hardcore BigBang.  
> DISCLAIMER: I own the story, but I do NOT own SPN, Sam or Dean or anything related to that. No!  
> A/N1: Story contains NSFW art, so please beware! Title & summary from Fall Out Boy's song 'Just One Yesterday'. Me no own that!  
> A/N2: The art was made by the ever wonderful amberdreams and you can view it IN the story itself so beware of NSFW art AND you can also go here at her post: http://amberdreams.livejournal.com/292975.html  
> A/N3: Betaed by the awesome vyperdd who was super cool in telling me that yes, this was hardcore enough to be in the hardcore bigbang! All remaining mistakes are mine.

****

 

 **PART 1**  
  
The question was:  
  
 _Do you know what you did?_  
  
The answer was:  
  
 _Yeah, yeah I do._  
  
The question was:  
  
 _Do you know you'll be punished?_  
  
The answer was:  
  
 _Yeah, Sam, I do._  
  
The punishment was always something to do with the 'crime'; punishment to fit the crime. Sam was smart, inventive and had the control over the computer and thus the internet and wowzeee, the internet taught his little brother well. But knowing the kid, Sam probably went and read stuff in real, paper and hard cover books too. Or magazines, if such things existed, like hard core magazines. Dean didn't know if they could be bought at your average Walmart or a gas station though, so huh. But Sam was just like that; researcher, picking apart things - theoretical things - and putting them back together in practical ways.  
  
To be honest, Dean was afraid a lot of times - scared out of his pretty little head about _what the fuck_ Sam would use as punishment this time or that time. Because the shit that lived inside his little brother's head was scary sometimes. Very scary. Surreal even. Bizarre most of the time. Sure Dean would tease, say 'you watching porn again, little bro?' and Sam would blush slightly and look away all shy and embarrassed, but damn under that blush and embarrassed eyes, all kinda crazy shit was hidden.  
  
But Sam - even when and if dealing out punishment - was a kind person, there was nothing on this planet and beyond that could or would ever erase that. Kindness and gentleness exist in someone, the same way as blood does. Or a heart. Or the brain. So, Dean wasn't scared of Sam, wasn't scared of what those strong, oh so familiar hands would do to him - he was scared of what Sam's brain would do to him, because let's face it (and Dean had a long time ago) Sam's brain was an encyclopedia of weirdness and to Dean's delight - and _pissmypants_ fear - porn.  
  
So, there were no questions and no answers beyond that. Sam asked, Dean acknowledged and it was just best to get it over with. No need to prolong the agony – the _dread_ – in hope of a few minutes more of blissful nothingness.  
  
Shit would go down, now or in three hours. 's just how it was with Sam. He never forgot, he never let things go.  
  
It was Sam. It had always been Sam and love was a weapon his brother used well.  
  
Been taught by the very best, after all.  


  
A sound of paper wrinkling, cellophane and plastic - he couldn't really tell - penetrated his ears and he stood up straighter, back straight as an arrow, when he saw what Sam was holding in his hands. It came out of nowhere, as if Sam pulled it out of thin air, but damn it, it was there all right. Solid, long paper bag that only offered glimpses of something yellowish inside.  
  
What. The. Fuck?  
  
He'd ask, but this was a time of Sam asking and he answering. This was not the time to question anything his little brother was doing or wanted to do. This was his punishment; in that weird, long bag was his punishment.  
  
He breathed out slowly just like Sam had taught him to do whenever he'd be nervous. Breathe in, hold, breathe out … rinse and repeat. He never put much on all of Sam's yoga crap, so he'd never admit to his brother that breathing really did kinda help.  
  
He shifted on his bare feet, slid his big toe against the fake wood floor and breathed out again, concentrating on the feel of the cold floor beneath his sweaty skin. He knew he was sweating as if he'd just gotten out of the shower without wiping himself off, could feel the cold drops run slowly down his naked back, tickling down his spine. Tickling between his pecs. There was sweat forming in the hair under his armpits, and on his upper lip and he knew that if this was their "normal sex" time, Sam would be on him in a second, nosing into his armpit, breathing in and then licking the sweat right off with his warm tongue.  
  
His knees began feeling weak just thinking of Sam's tongue, of Sam all around him, surrounding him like the warmest of blankets. His hands began to tremble just like they had when he held a gun for the first time … just like they had when he held Sammy for the first time, careful of the baby's head. Careful of the baby's warm, squirming body.  
  
"Okay, c'mon, on the bed. On your back."  
  
The muscles in his jaw twitched - it was an order concealed into a few words spoken really softly, as if telling a child a goodnight story and Sam looked big, huge and looming over him like a monster out of fairytales.  
  
But Sam wasn't a monster, the eyes gave that away, if one looked really closely. Those hazel eyes, soft and gentle as they were, told a wicked, wicked little tale of just how much Sam was going to enjoy this and just how much Dean was going to hate it. Hate this, but never Sam.  
  
And his little brother knew that very well.

 

  
"Come on, Dean, just lay down."  
  
He clenched his fists by his sides, his nakedness strangely awkward and embarrassing compared to Sam's jeans and a simple gray t-shirt. He felt small, vulnerable, like the air itself could hurt him more than any knife ever could. Which was crazy, it was crazy. He and Sam fucked like bunnies over the weekend, and Sam had seen him naked more times than he'd seen the sun rise and yeah, he really shouldn't be feeling like this. Small. Observed. Undressed more than just his clothes.  
  
Goosebumps washed over his skin - from legs to arms - and his nipples pebbled into hard nubs, but his cock remained limp, hanging down between his balls as if it knew that it was getting a slap on its wrist. He wanted to look down at it, call it names and say _fuck you, big guy, you got us in this mess_. But he couldn't look away from Sam. Couldn't look away from the damn bag thingy Sam held in his big paws.  
  
Fuck.  
  
But punishment was punishment, it wasn't something where he found pleasure. Sam explained that to him very well when they began this little wicked thing. Punishment was supposed to make him wanna crawl into a hole and stay there. Punishment was supposed to teach him to never, ever disobey Sam ever again.  
  
And oh boy, did it work. He didn't get punished a lot, but when he did, when Sam's fuckin' genius brain came up with the most insane shit, the lesson stayed and he never strayed from it. He never wanted a repeat. Never.  
  
He still woke up some mornings, his hands going directly to cup his half-hard dick, where the phantom pain of the nettle whipping he got a few months ago still haunted him. Haunted him stinging and damn, but that one had hurt. But he learned his lesson. The hard way, yes, but he learned it all right. Where Sam even got those nettles was a mystery to him, and he would never ask. He didn't want to know, didn't want to put any ideas into Sam's head. That one little nettle leaf that had laid on the head of his dick - its tiny steam pushed into his slit - for a few minutes still made him cringe and wanna howl whenever he saw a green leaf anywhere.  
  
Or the time Sam left the biggest butt plug they had in his ass, along with three loads of Sam's come, throughout the night. Whenever he shifted the damn plug rubbed at his already rubbed raw prostate and he couldn't fart - which was damn uncomfortable - or lay on his back. That had been torture and he learned his lesson then too – he would never ever decline a prostate milking when Sam would suggest it. Never!  
  
And he never ever wanted to think back at that fuckin' Tuesday when Sam massaged his prostate right to the point where he'd sort of finally start coming and then stopped, withdrew his fingers and walked away. That. No. Never again. Lesson learned. The end.  
  
And he blocked the vibrating cock ring out of his mind. That gave him a serious case of blue balls and a sore dick.  
  
So yes, to say that he was scared would be an understatement. But he wasn't scared of Sam, never of his little brother. He wasn't even scared of pain. He was just terrified of Sam seeing him … completely undone. See him beg and plead, see him be completely wrecked. Not even demons could ever get him as undone as Sam could.  
  
And that scared him more than anything, because being at Sam's mercy like this, made all the carefully structured brick and cement walls he had built in his heart and his mind, fall apart. Shatter around him into tiny, tiny pieces and leave him so very vulnerable he was always on the brink of wailing like a baby. On the edge, but he hadn't fallen over it yet.  
  
Sam … Sam stopped before that could happen. Sam … Sam with his raw, low, soothing voice, Sam with his sloppy kisses, Sam with his gentle touch, Sam with his smile, Sam with his penetrating eyes. God, right down to his soul. Down to his guts and up to his brain.  
  
Sam. Just Sam.  
  
Only Sam could ever do that to him. Only Sam could demolish the walls with one, _one_ , right word. Or a right touch.  
  
It only took one, to break him.  
  
Only took one, to glue him back into one solid piece again.  
  
He hated punishment. He really still couldn't say why he did the crime then.  


  
"Dean…"  
  
Fuck, but sometimes he hated his own name. Hated how it rolled off of Sam's tongue like the sweetest of melodies, how it could sound beautiful and harsh at the same time. How it made him shiver, how it made him draw out his gun and take a shot, how it made him scream in pain or pleasure.  
  
He nodded, bowed his head - resigned to his fate - turned around and walked to the bed, hoping that it was a good, solid bed, no squeaking or anything. They'd moved motels yesterday, had been in this room for a day and some change and they did take the corner room, so … they hadn't tested the headboard yet, if it banged at the wall and such. He wasn't sure if the room next to theirs was occupied, but well ... he didn't want any unwanted visitors coming to knock on their door. He knew Sam would handle that, or maybe Sam already handled everything.  
  
Sam usually handled everything anyway.  
  
"On your back, c'mon, Dean."  
  
He wanted to punch Sam in that serious expression on his face and crush his pearly whites, and he would've done that, _before_. Before all of this started. Before he gave his life into his little brother's hands. Before, that kinda tone of Sam's voice and the look on Sam's face would make him run for the hills shouting 'fuck off, leave me goddamnit alone' after he'd punch the lights out of his brother.  
  
But now?  
  
Now he slowly walked to the bed, slowly laid down on it, slowly shifted up a bit so that his head rested on the pillow nice and comfy.  
  
He relaxed into the mattress with a sigh. It would be all right. This was Sam. This was his little brother with a soft heart, huge brain and hands that were strong, steady and knew how to wring pleasure and pain out of his body. Sam wouldn't hurt him even when he was hurting him.  
  
"Hands by your side, don't touch anything but the blanket, the pillows or the sheets, okay?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Bend your knees, spread your legs, feet on the bed, don't move from that, all right?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
It was always 'yeah', never 'yes'. 'Yes' was too formal, 'yes' made his skin crawl, because 'yes' was always accompanied with 'sir' and it was always meant for their Dad.  
  
Yes, sir. Yes, sir Dad. Yes, Dad sir.  
  
Made his skin crawl and he knew it made Sam's skin crawl too. So, yeah, they'd stay with 'yeah'.  
  
He did as Sam asked, because 'no' was definitely _not_ in the vocabulary right now. The word 'no' did not exist and if he'd say it and disobey Sam ... he didn't really want to know what the punishment on top of the punishment would be.  
  
"Okay, 'm gonna place these pillows under your thighs, okay, so just lean your legs on 'em."  
  
The pillows were, well, he wasn't really sure where Sam got them, maybe he asked the girl who cleaned the rooms or maybe he just stole them from another room. But they were soft and warmed up really fast when he leaned his thighs, knees and the upper part of his calves on them.  
  
"Comfortable?"  
  
"Uh, yeah."  
  
"You're not sure?"  
  
Fuck Sam with his eyes. Damn it.  
  
He wiggled his bare ass a bit lower, adjusted the pillow behind his back and sunk his knees deeper into the pillows.  
  
"'m sure."  
  
He was _on view_ like this. To no one but Sam, but it made his skin crawl already, trying to sink into himself, trying to hide himself with his hands and the pillows, pull up the sheet and roll in it until he'd be a burrito; completely concealing his core from his brother. Sam hadn't even done anything yet; was just standing there by the bed, with that damn bag thingy, the plastic crinkling, taunting him 'hey asshole 'm gonna be your downfall today'.  
  
He breathed out.  
  
Shit.  
  
The room was warm, Sam made sure of that, 'cause there was no need for his dick and balls to go into hiding, 'cause well … Sam needed those to play with, right?  
  
Yeah.  
  
The light was a measly bed table lamp, but it made the room fall into soft, soothing browns and reds as it bounced on the red wall paper. Sam chose this motel, chose this room and well, Dean knew Sam chose this so that they could've gotten some rest after the last hunt had made them both sleepy and tired. He was almost certain that Sam did not know that the room would be used to punish Dean. Like ninety percent certain. Sam was smart, but he couldn't see the future. Well, anymore that is.  
  
The curtains were drawn, the outside world shut out of the small room. This was for them only. Everything had always been for them only.  
  
Then it began.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART 2**

The tube slid down his dick smoothly, Sam used enough lube on the slit and on the catheter, so that was okay. It pinched a bit when the tube had to bend a bit, because his anatomy was just wired like that. Fucker.

But it was all right. Compared to the nettles on his dick, this was a walk in the park. He'd been in hospitals, he'd had a catheter shoved down his dick a few times, sure he'd been unconscious when it had been done, but still. He knew how it was.

But … watching his brother on his knees between his spread legs, wearing white latex gloves that enveloped his long fingers, bringing out every dip in the skin was … strangely fascinating. Even just watching how Sam held his dick very carefully, but still tight enough so it wouldn't fall down and pinched the head to widen the slit was … all kinds of weirdly fascinating. And it felt damn good; tingly and hot.

His brother had skills. Mad skills and he wondered if Sam had practiced doing this. On himself? Just the thought alone made him shudder and Sam look up at him.

Those eyes, hiding behind the hair, those goddamned eyes that could strip him bare even if he was wearing ten layers of clothes. One look, one rightly placed look and there was no escape. He was pinned down like an insect on a board.

Sam didn't say anything, just bit his lower lip and went back to slowly and carefully sliding the tube into his bladder.

He had no idea what kinda punishment this was, because it surely wasn't feeling like any.

Yet.

He knew there was a huge, huge, like envelop the universe huge _yet_ there, because Sam and punishment? Yeah … little brother was an expert at that.

"'kay, good?"

Sam's whispered words startled him; there was just something very wrong and mesmerizing in watching the yellow tube hanging out of his limp dick.  
  
"Uh…"

"We haven't even started yet and you're already speechless, wow."

"Wha'?"

Sam was pushing water into the small balloon that was in his bladder now with a syringe and whoa, that was …

… Sam had given him shots before, yeah, shit to numb pain whenever he needed to be stitched together or had a bullet pried out of him, but this was strangely … so … fuckin' … hot. Shouldn't be, really. It was a syringe and he'd seen those a million times before, but this time, here and now … held with Sam's sure, long, latex covered fingers, so close to his dick, so damn close …

… he couldn't take his eyes off of the tube sticking out of his slit; he could see Sam fiddle with something at the end of it, some more tubes and stuff, but the pressure and the press of everything inside of him was taking his attention and making him run with it. He didn't care what Sam was doing, didn't want to know really.

"All right, Dean?"

This was a really weird punishment.

"Hey, Dean!"

Fingers tapped the base of his dick; warm, slick and smooth latex against his sensitive skin and he turned his eyes up to look at his brother.

"What?" he snapped and then closed his mouth, because uh-oh, you do not snap at Sam at punishment time. No. Bad Dean.

"'m gonna let that slide, okay, but listen. Rules."

"Okay?"

"You don't touch anything, but the sheets or the pillows. If I touch you, that's different. But you do not touch anything but the sheets or the pillows, all right?"

He watched as Sam pulled off the tight latex gloves and threw them to the floor somewhere. Wouldn't be needing those then. All right.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah."

He could do that. Sure. Even if his hands sometimes had other plans, like touching Sam whenever they could, because touching Sam was a lifeline. Touching Sam was what praying was to other people, touching his little brother was making sure Sam was still alive, was breathing and had a heartbeat. Touching Sam was like touching the sun and the moon and the stars and the ocean all mixed together into … Sam. Touching Sam was what made his dick so hard sometimes he probably could actually cut diamonds with it. Touching Sam made sparks between his palm and Sam's skin almost visible. Touching Sam was what he wanted to do all the time, any time.

But he could do this. He could control himself; this was punishment and touching Sam would probably hurt really, really bad at the end, because Sam was a burning sun. Beautiful and bright and full of pain if touched.

"If you want to speak, you can only say my name. All other words, and I'll just make this last longer, okay? And believe me, you do not want this to last longer."

"Yeah."

Sam's name. Sam. Sammy. Sam. Sam. He'd been saying his little brother's name all of his life, for years in every and all variations. Even Samuel. His little brother's name was sometimes the only word between his life and his death. Something to hold on to, when Sam wasn't there. Something to mumble when pain was trying to take him under. Something to hold on to, when darkness was descending and there were no other words that he could use to hold onto the light. Sam.

He could do that too.

"You have your safe word, use it. Don't … don't make me find out you didn't use it 'cause you were bein' a jerk, all right?"

"Yeah."

Fuck, yeah. He didn't want a repeat of that punishment. He would use his safe word the second it would need to be used.

He could do that.

"You know what you did wrong?"

"I know."

Fuck but does he know and it would never happen again, so help him God that's not there, because the bastard abandoned his children and the world a long time ago.

"Let's start then."

There was a click then, and another one, but his focus was entirely on Sam. On how his little brother made himself comfortable sitting between his spread legs wearing clothes that he wore to get them a six pack and a pizza four hours earlier.

He'd laugh if he could afford it. He didn't know what Sam would do with laughter, because it wasn't Sam's name, yet it wasn't words technically either, so … but best not risk it.

But he was bored. This was an unusual punishment, just … laying there really.

Huh.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Sam?"

And then Sam smiled … like the damn Devil and moved up his body like a predator moves before it strikes its prey dead.

"You wanna know what's goin' on?"

The words were damp, warm air against his lips and he sucked the moist air from his brother's lips into his mouth before he nodded. Sam tasted like salvation, smelled like soap and purity, even if he rode on the morning star for a while.

"You'll see soon, all right, just trust me."

"Sam."

He trusted his brother. With his body, his life, his heart, his soul. Even if Sam would one day have to kill him, or decide to kill him, there wasn't a hand he'd rather die under. He trusted Sam.

"Okay, then."

Then Sam's lips caught his and time slipped away from him. Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty. Kissing Sam was like getting lost in space; a vast place where all the stars lived. But then his brother moved those spit shiny lips down his chin, down his throat, licked his neck, kissed his collarbone, sucked on his nipples until he had to arch his back to get Sam's lips off or harder down on his nipples, he wasn't really sure because that tongue, that soft and warm and slick tongue felt so good. Sam felt so good, always did. Always.

He moaned when his brother left his nipples coated with spit for the air to cool it all down and dry the saliva. But then Sam settled for kissing and licking the hard plane of his chest and the tensing stomach and that felt so good. Better than the burn after a shot of Whiskey.

It was an unusual punishment, because _damnfuckholyhell_ did it feel good to have Sam's hot mouth leave even hotter kisses all over his front.

He was arching up, moving his hips in weak twitching motions, scared to move more, but needing Sam to go lower, go upwards, go sideways, _fuckhim_ go anywhere, because Sam's mouth and tongue were magic. Pressing hard down onto his skin, or just giving small, kitten licks around his ribs or in the dip between them.

He had to close his eyes; watching Sam losing himself in this moment, watching his little brother dip down to suck, to touch, to lick, to kiss, watching and feeling Sam's silky hair slide down his skin … if he'd spent another second watching Sam's tongue work on his stomach and chest, he'd lose it and touch Sam to bring that mouth closer to his.

But no touching. Sam said and what Sam said went. Especially right then, because one wrong move, one wrong word and Sam … well, there was no telling what Sam'd do.

He whined. Couldn't swallow down the sound fast enough, maybe didn't even want to, because all of this felt too good, too much, too close and not close enough. He wanted Sam to stop this and he wanted Sam to never stop this. He wanted to wrap his hands around Sam's broad, muscled body, tuck him close to his chest and hold him until Sam would be the one to lose all control. He wanted to wrap them both in a blanket, wrap them around each other and stay like that. For ever and ever until someone would find only their decaying flesh or bare bones.

"Sam …" he breathed out and squirmed, hopelessly trying to push his groin closer to Sam's body. He gripped the pillows near his bend knees, wanting so bad to touch himself, wanting to grab Sam by his hair and pull him up to his mouth, or push him down to his dick or just hold him still.

Something. Anything.

"I miss your amulet …"

The words were whispered directly into the spot where the amulet always made home for itself.

He missed it too. And the punishment he received from his brother after … Sam had taken away his smell, his sight, his speech, ability to touch. Sam had taken away all of his senses and left him on the bed for three days. Lost in his own head, lost in thinking about what he'd done. After, Sam had simply said: "This is how you made me feel when you threw it into the trash."

It hurt. All of it hurt, but he wouldn't have done it differently.

The cooling spit Sam was leaving all over his stomach and in an almost puddle inside his navel was making him shiver until his brother came back down the same path and added more fresh warm spit.

He was moving his pelvis right and left raising up his hips, the movement making his lower belly tense up, muscles getting a good workout, but he needed, he wanted, he hoped for more contact, for Sam to at least touch his balls, maybe his dick, but he wasn't sure if he could come with that tube sticking out of him. But damn he needed something or he'd die.

"Sam…" his voice was hoarse already, _oh fuck_.

He clenched his eyes shut tighter, knowing, so help him, that if he opened them and looked down at Sam, he'd lose it and grab his brother to push him down to his dick and demand that the little bitch made him come.

And then …

… ahh, ow, fuck.

"Sam?"

He wanted to ask so damn much what the fuck was _that_ , but he was not allowed to and even lost in the pleasure and now a pinch of pain, he wouldn't disobey. Disobeying would just make it hurt more, Sam said so.

But he did open his eyes and looked down his front to see a wide grin – white teeth and spit dripping down Sam's lower lip and running down his chin to drip directly onto his left nipple – and oh shit. That grin was never not trouble.

"Ss-sam?" he stuttered and sunk lower into the mattress when Sam crawled up his body, fingers gliding against his ribcage and went straight to his ear: "I know you want to know, Dean," a lick on his earlobe, "but I only want to hear my name, otherwise, " a kiss on his earlobe, "all I'll hear'll be begging an' I don't want that. Just my name, all right?" the words were spoken softly into his ear, followed by a kiss on the shell and more kisses down the side of his neck that left him shuddering at how damn good Sam was at that.

Fuck. And double fuck, because he wasn't sure he'd get any answers from his brother about what the hell was even going on.

But his bladder felt like he needed to go, kinda like it felt after a beer. Just a little notice of 'hey, buddy, nudge, nudge, think you'll need to go piss soon'. Nothing he couldn't handle really, because being on the road as much as they were, having a bladder that could hold its liquor was just something they both had. And hustling at bars, well one couldn't just leave for the toilet at any given time, one had to finish the scam. So, yeah. This was nothing he couldn't handle, but it still made him uneasy, because wasn't the whole point of a catheter to take piss out? 's what always happened when he was in a hospital … huh.

He could ask Sam, but nooooo-oooohoooohooo, that would be the dumbest idea he'd had since that waitress in Tulsa.

Sam's chuckle though, when his brother finally made his way back down to his stomach, didn't make him feel any better. It was evil, pure evil. That bitch.

But he really could handle this; it was just a slight pang, an invitation to go take a leak, but he could ignore it. The feeling was slightly frustrating, because damn he needed to go, but he could handle it.

He took a deep breath and relaxed back into the pillows.

"Yeah, 's it, just breathe through it."

He wanted to grab his brother's hair and pull him up to smash their lips together and make himself choke on Sam.

But he couldn't do that, wasn't allowed to touch, so he closed his eyes again, because watching Sam roam his big hands up and down his chest and tight belly, following the same path with his tongue, was out of the question. He'd lose it if he'd watch that. Totally lose his sanity.

But it felt sooo _damngood_ ; even if his bladder was poking at him, making him fall into sort of annoyance at it, Sam's touch soothed it all away. His brother's palms were callused, rough from handling shovels and guns and blades of all kinds. And they were wide, with long fingers that could push in between his ribs or on his nipples, or _ohfuckingfuck_ into his bellybutton and that was too much, especially when the sensation went straight to his bladder.

It made him fidget, squirm which made his dick swing left and right and move the tube with it and oh, okay … that felt strange. But he couldn't stop fidgeting. It felt like something was slowly inflating his bladder from the inside and fuck. He looked to his left and saw a bag filled with translucent liquid hanging on a coat rack.

Oh fuckin' fuck.

"Ss-sam?" if he'd be allowed to use any other word he'd say 'Sam, fuck stop, what the hell?' but well, he would have to somehow convey his thoughts through just one word. Piece of cake. No problem, wasn't as if they never communicated with just their eyes before. They were brothers, secret language was just a given. All right. So: "Sam?" his voice was shaky and his chest was heaving so much, Sam had to place his big hands on top of his pecs and whisper: "Settle." to get him to calm down. It worked a little bit, 'cause it was an order and orders were meant to be followed. But Sam's voice was husky, and damn if that didn't make his breathing pick up even more.

Voice. Touch. Smell, _ohfuck_ , the smell; Sam smelled of soap mixed with beer and peperoni pizza and he wanted to lick into Sam's mouth and search for that meal between Sam's teeth.

Sam's hands were curling around his hips, thumbs brushing ever so slightly over the bone, such a gentle caress it was maddening until those fingers started tracing the V of muscles leading down to his groin and it stopped being maddening, falling into _fuuuuuuuuck_. He pushed his head deeper into the pillow which raised his lower belly right into Sam's mouth and he hissed when Sam's tongue swirled in the hair around his dick.

"Doin' soooo good …"

The words made him whine and a wave of shame surge through him – he was too open, too exposed, too close to Sam, too close to breaking. He let his lower body unstick itself from Sam's mouth and fall back to the bed, because uh-oh, this was so far from being over. There were a lot of things he could handle, really, but praise? No. Because he wasn't good, he wasn't nice. He was covered in blood and the blood was saying 'son of a bitch, you murderer.' He wasn't a good person.

"S-ssam?" he hated the tremble in his voice, hated it, but couldn't do anything about it. There was a strange click in his throat whenever he swallowed down whatever he could scrounge up of saliva and he couldn't control sounds and the way they were coming out of his wide open mouth.

"Easy, doin' so good …" followed by a nibble of his hipbone, as if Sam wanted to devour it.

 _Ohfuckinghell_ , it tickled, but it felt so good it made his dick twitch, but oh wow, couldn't get hard.

Huh. Shit then.

Maybe it was from all the conditioning they'd been through – don't get hard, don't get hard, Dean don't get hard, no! – or maybe it was from the tube up his dick.

Huh.

He was so screwed.

And when Sam scratched his blunt nails down the hard peak of his right nipple, brushing the tips of his thumbs around the areole, he flinched as his bladder sent more pangs of urgency up to his brain.

"Sammmm..."

His brother's chuckle send warm air into his spit-full navel and his whole body shook when that made his bladder clench. It was an involuntary thing, his muscles just did it without consulting with the brain and he hissed through gritted teeth, because ooooooooh ow! Not good.

"Your bladder's right on the edge right now, huh? You feelin' it?" he sure could feel it when Sam's sweaty, big palm rubbed right over the damn thing, "Right on that edge between empty and full enough to be able to last a little bit longer. You wanna go so bad, it's so frustrating, the pain, hmmm? You're all fidgety, sweating, wanna rip your hair out it's so annoying, ain't it? It aches so bad, hmmm?"

Oh God, oh God, ohgodohgodohgod he was so screwed.

He heard himself moan; whenever Sam gentled his touch as he caressed the middle of his sternum, as if trying to touch every freckle there.

He heard himself groan; whenever Sam gently, softly pressed the pad of his finger to one – or both – of his nipples and wiggled the finger. If Sam hadn't followed that touch with his tongue later, Dean would've screamed himself hoarse, the sensation too much and wired directly to his bladder that was swelling up like a huge balloon.

He heard himself whimper; whenever Sam moved his hand near his slightly raised belly, where his bladder was already filled so much that its curve could actually be seen from the outside. That curve on his belly was Sam's favorite place to touch. Of course.

He heard himself pant; whenever Sam ran one of his hands over the bladder, cupped it as best as he could and dipped a finger of his other hand into his bellybutton.

He heard himself sigh; whenever Sam finally came up and kissed him. Kissed him with such need; all little brother mixed with the taste of sweat.

He heard himself keen; whenever Sam ran his thumbs under the hard nubs of his nipples, and then down in a spiral towards his navel and lower down to press them into the sides of his slightly raised bladder.

He heard himself murmur things, whispers that weren't actual words, just impressions of words that he knew shouldn't come out of his mouth. His lips were trembling with restraint; he wanted to say so many things, so many words tried to spill out of him … _moreneedyesfuckcomeon_ – _let me touch you, Sammy_.

And the more he tried, the less he could stop those noises, not even with his mouth dry and his lungs barely getting any oxygen in them.

He could feel himself arching of the mattress whenever Sam's hands came so close, so close, so very close, but not close enough to the base of his dick, his slender fingers spreading over the bulge and his teeth snagging the hair there and pulling.

He could feel himself writhe whenever Sam gripped his hips to hold him down and ran his fingers where he was most ticklish. He all but came off the bed, when Sam did that the first time and Sam, the bitch that he was, just chuckled and blew some air on the tip of his cock; but never touching.

He could feel himself raise his hips up and to the sides, digging his toes into the sheet, trying to curl up into himself to escape, but Sam splayed his fingers over his sides and tsk: "Settle, easy …"

He could feel himself clenching all of his muscles whenever his brother dipped his tongue into his navel and ran his hands up and down his flank, and then under, to run his hands up and down the sweaty skin of his back.

He nearly sobbed when he heard Sam mutter: "You're so good, so good Dean. Doin' so good, so beautiful."

The last two words were mumbled into his mouth, but he heard them anyway, felt them over his tingly lips. Beautiful? He wasn't beautiful; he was a man with so much blood on his hands, so much death, so much Hell … Sam was obviously blind.

Maybe they should look into it, Sam would look hot with glasses.

"S-sam…"

He needed to piss, he needed to go, _fuckinghell_ but yeah he needed to go. He squirmed a little and gripped the pillows tight, trying to push his toes and heels into the rumpled sheets, needing to fuckin' go piss; his bladder was beyond bloated sitting heavy in his middle. But when Sam moved up and kissed him silent, he knew that his brother wouldn't allow him to go anywhere near a toilet to relieve the swollen feeling in his bladder anytime soon. While Sam's tongue mapping out his mouth was a distraction, it wasn't nearly enough to make the feeling of fuckin' frustration, urgency, desperation go away. He whined, but his brother wouldn't let go of his lips, sucking on them like they were the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted.

Dean knew how that felt.

He really wanted to raise his hands up and slide his fingers into Sam's hair, pull on it and get himself lost in the feeling of touching Sam, but his brother had said 'do not touch', so he wouldn't touch. But it was killing him, it was making his insane, making him anchor himself into nothing but the feel of _needtopissnow_ that was pressing on him like a rock.

And then Sam slowly slid down his body again, leaving his lips coated in spit that he licked off and tried to at least get lost in the taste of Sam.

Didn't work though, because his brother's mouth was slowly making its way down his neck and chest, hands roaming across his ribs, smoothing down his stomach, fingers spread as wide as they'd go, spanning almost around his whole middle, until Sam's index fingers met right at the center of where it _hurt_ the most and pressed down.

"Sam!"

He screamed and pressed the back of his head into the pillow when real pain shot from his bladder up his spine. That was a familiar feeling too; it was a warning of 'one more sip and then ruuuuun to the toilet or you'll be walking around wetwetwetdripping'.

But he couldn't do that here, now. There was no escape from here. No escape from his brother's hands, tongue, teeth, lips. Eyes.

No escaping the liquid filling him up, extending his bladder and making sweat run down his face in rivers, because this was just too much.

Sam watching him come apart like this, it was too much.

Sam seeing him come apart like this, it was too much.

Sam feeling him come apart like this, it was too much.

Sam making him fall apart like this, it was too damn much but there was no way to bend this pain. There was nothing he could do to run away from Sam's eyes that were burning him, dragging him into that abyss. The soft light from the lamp was making his little brother's eyes look as if they held all the colors of the world … bright, shiny and warm.

He could feel it all over his skin, making it turn red and boiling from the intense stare Sam had on him no matter what his brother was doing. His brother's eyes were on his face through it all. Watching, observing, staring, seeing.

He was burning up, he was fading, he was falling. He looked into Sam's eyes and could see that love and darkness really were one and the same.

"Sam!" he screamed and sobbed, because now … now it was getting too much. Now the pinches and pains were starting to turn into a pressure that was starting to drive him absolutely mad. If he'd be standing right now, he'd be doing the 'pee-pee dance' and then run to the bathroom like the Devil was on his ass.

And the little bastard of his brother even left the bathroom door open so that his salvation, the white porcelain of the toilet was right there, in front of his eyes whenever he turned his head to his left.

Fucker.

He wanted to ask just how much was in his bladder right then, just how much liquid was stretching it at that moment, because it felt like a lot, like a damn pool had been pumped inside of him.

"Sam…" the word 'please' was on the tip of his tongue, but he wouldn't say it. Saying it would make him lose Sam.

He didn't want to lose his little brother, but he was drowning. He was drowning and his brother was the one pushing his head under the water. There was desperation so raw cursing through his veins, his muscles were locked tight one second and relaxing the next and he was drowning.

His back came off the bed whenever the desperation pinched like a needle in his brain and relaxed back down when he could breathe again.

"Easy Dean…"

Sam's touch was driving him insane, driving the desperation higher and higher and he'd burst. He would explode under Sam's hands and Sam's tongue and all the pieces of him would float until Sam would sew him back together.

Even Sam's breathing, ragged and harsh exhales that ruffled the hair that had fallen onto Sam's forehead whenever his brother bowed his head and dived tongue first on his stomach. Even just that was making him shudder and a feeling of warmth spread over him because this was affecting his brother just like it was affecting him. They were both suffering, but he was suffering more because he couldn't touch Sam, couldn't feel those strong muscles rippling across Sam's back ... and his bladder was howling in pain, filled up and expanded pushing out on his lower belly.

_Fuuuck_

He whined when his brother circled the pad of his index finger around the opening of his navel. Around and around and around and around and _fuckhim_ , but he raised his lower back off the bed and hit Sam's forearm with the slight mound of his bladder.

"Saaa-hm…" he hissed, and dropped down to bed, because oh-oh-oh lesson learned there. No putting pressure on his bladder. No.

"So beautiful like this, just like this underneath me, spread like this, just like this. Being so good, being mine. Just mine."

Always Sam's.


	3. Chapter 3

**PART 3** **( NSFW ART HERE!)**

"You know what I wanna do someday?"

He slithered up Dean's jerking, squirming body like a snake, gripped Dean by the short, sweat soaked spikes and pulled his brother's head back, exposing the long line of flushed neck. He whispered into Dean's ear: "Wanna push my dick into your ass, while your bladder keeps on getting fuller and fuller," his brother's whole body became rigid at those words, stiff like a board and he nibbled on Dean's earlobe before finishing: "right through that tube. There would be nowhere for you to go ... nowhere for you to hide."

He felt more than he could see, Dean try to curl in on himself – trying to escape, probably run off the bed, tugging the catheter right out – but he was faster and moved down to grip Dean's thighs: "No, Dean. Keep 'em spread."

"Sss-sam..."

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from moaning; watching Dean be like this, totally, completely exposed helplessly squirming on the mattress, little spasms of tightly-coiled muscles … it made his dick so hard, dripping precome and his balls ready to burst.

"Yeah…" he moved back up, licking a stripe of salty, hot skin feeling Dean's muscles ripple under his tongue, until he could grab hold of his brother's hair again to pull his head backwards to whisper into the wide open eyes: "… I'd fill you up so good, hmmm ... full on both ends. Fuckin' bet my cockhead would punch right into your bladder if I'd angle it right, push deep enough."

"Sa-saammm."

He let go of Dean's hair, let his brother adjust his head back as it was, smirking at the panic written all over Dean's face.

"Yeah, I would," he petted Dean's cheek, his fingertips slipping in all the moisture there, "but not today. This ain't 'bout that."

He heard Dean release a tense breath. Wouldn't do him any good, what Sam wanted Sam got, no stopping him and one day, one day he'd fuck Dean when his brother's bladder would be full to bursting and he'd fill him up even more. Who knows, maybe Dean would spurt piss out of his dick, whenever he'd push his cock up deep into Dean's ass. It was certainly something to consider. Note to self: do some research and then test it all out on Dean.

He slid back down Dean's body, stopping to lick the probably already very sore nipples. They were hard and red and so damn tasty, he couldn't resist touching them, pulling them into his mouth and sucking on them. Loved how Dean cried out every time he touched the tip of his tongue to the very tip of the hard nub, only a string of spit connecting them.

Loved watching his brother fall apart like this. Unguarded. Free to move and free to make sounds all the while he could taste his brother's skin, sweat, fear, pain, love and darkness. His brother was beautiful when his body moved in pleasure, when his body moved in the futile hope of escaping pain.

Beautiful when Dean fell apart with their eyes meeting; all the green gone, just blackness to fall into.

The room was getting warmer and warmer and the sheen of sweat and spit on Dean's freckled chest was making his mouth salivate. The way the muscles moved underneath his brother's pale skin, the way he could almost see Dean's heart move … he needed to taste that, feel it under his tongue, feel it against his lips. Feel it against his fingertips. He had his brother on display like this, all for him, just for him.

Always just for him.

He moved further down to sit between Dean's spread legs, hands back to roaming along the bulge in Dean's belly and a finger pressing deep into the bellybutton enjoying the hissing sounds coming out of Dean's well-bitten lips. His brother was shaking his head, eyes shut tightly closed, fingers digging into the pillows.

 

  
  
His own dick was hard - while Dean's was limp - leaking and straining to _comealready_. Just having Dean like this, open, vulnerable, defenses down and walls crumbling, had his balls already drawing up.

The sight of his brother's body moving; chest heaving, mouth parted open, eyes closed, Adam's apple working overtime, stomach raising up and down in synch with his chest, dick with the yellow tube twitching in a strange attempt to get hard, balls shiny with all the spit and sweat that had ran down his brother's body … all of Dean was his for the taking, all that movement was like a dance, a seduction, all that freckled, spit and sweat slick skin, all those muscles moving in different ways depending on how and where Sam touched.

It was … he had never seen something so amazing. It was impossible not to touch, impossible not to caress every inch of the body in front of him. Impossible not to try and push his fingers in different spots, or just skim over other parts … it was mesmerizing in just how many ways a human body – Dean's body – could move when lost in sensations of touch.

But by the sounds Dean was making, Sam really couldn't tell if it was pain or pleasure his brother was feeling, although it was probably a frustrating mix of both.

He drooled watching Dean's belly starting to slowly rise up as liquid filled his brother's bladder, small at first and then up and up it went, from a lemon size to a grapefruit to nearly a watermelon. He knew how much Dean could take before there would be any damage made to either his bladder or kidneys and he knew Dean trusted him with this. He'd never ever hurt his brother. He calculated this precisely, researched it – internet, all kinds of medical books - until his eyes bled. And he'd never let this go too far. His brother's bladder wasn't even full to its maximum capacity; it was him touching, him watching Dean, him licking every warm part of his brother's skin that made Dean feel as if he'd burst. He knew that. Knew Dean so well, too well.

And he even knew that Dean didn't like it, when he saw what he'd been holding. It had confused his brother at first, he'd seen that in Dean's eyes, and he saw how Dean wanted to fight it, but didn't.

Good boy.

Saw how Dean's eyes nearly popped out of his head and how his breathing picked up speed. But Dean didn't fight it.

Good boy.

It just had to happen, punishment had to be dealt with and his brother knew that; after all this time.

"Good boy, so good…"

He couldn't resist in telling Dean how good he was being; he was following the rules, he was becoming undone right before his little brother's eyes: "Doin' so good …" and he was trusting Sam with … everything.

Life.

Soul.

Body.

Pleasure.

Pain.

Love.

There was so much trust between them both, they could've lit up the stars and made them shine brighter than a supernova.

And it was trust that was shining in Dean's eyes; so much trust in that blackness that made his dick throb alongside his heart.

Trust and love and life.

Sam knew that all this would do damage to his brother's carefully structured walls, but this … Dean being like this, falling apart so beautifully, all naked and spread open, all shining with spit and sweat on all that flushed - scarred, freckled, smooth - skin … it was more than he imagined. So much more.

Sometimes one doesn't need a lot to be taught a lesson. Sometimes just being on display with no barriers between one's eyes and one's skin could make someone fall apart easier than a brittle leaf.

While Dean writhing on the bed was the most delicious sight Sam had ever seen – besides when Dean comes harder than hard – Sam had to hold him down by the hips at some points, his palms sliding in all the slick. He didn't want Dean to hurt himself in some way, injure his back or tug on the catheter too hard. He suspected that Dean moved whenever his bladder sent signals to his brain _fullpissnow_. Those were the moments when Dean moved too fast and too high, moaned, whimpered and hissed all at the same time. It was instinctive that Dean rose his whole lower body up, trying to escape the pressure, the burn and the _need_ , Sam understood that, but he also knew that all that moving around was actually doing more bad than good, putting even more pressure on his brother's aching bladder.

And damn if that wasn't a sight that made Sam's dick even harder than it already was. Dean being like this ... soaked in sweat, filling up slowly on the inside, the pressure and the need to go take a leak but not being able to, the noises Dean was making, the utter humiliation and embarrassment that made Dean's cheeks rosy ... made the slit on Sam's dick spurt out precome almost in a steady stream.

As if he was pissing instead of Dean.

He'd slipped out of his jeans and underwear a while ago, sure that Dean hadn't even noticed. But he couldn't take it anymore; couldn't take having his hard dick confined in some stupid fabric, when there was so much freedom around him. There's a difference between torture and delaying pleasure. And really, this was neither.

Every move of Dean's body, every twitch of his muscles, every time he swallowed and made his Adam's apple bob, every tightening of Dean's belly under his palm got Sam nearly to the point of coming, but he gripped the base of his cock with shaky fingers, breathed in and out a few times to calm down and waited it out, his eyes half on Dean's and half on Dean's cock laying on his brother's slowly distending belly.

Dean was so very lost in what was happening to him, his eyes boring into Sam's; heat, trust, love, wild and pure want.

It was that, that made them click gazes and hold them through the dim light.

There were no words needed to say what they both felt. What was moving underneath their skin, what was running in their veins, what was breaking down walls.

"Sam…"

Only one word was needed and Dean knew it more than he knew anything else.

And then it happened.

The begging.

"Oooo-ghhhh f-f-f-fffuck Sam c-ccccan't ... fffff-uck c-can't," breaking the rules, breaking all the rules and when that first tear appeared in the corner of Dean's eyes, that one, crystal clear tear that couldn't be mistaken for sweat, that's when Sam lost it. The fuckin' pain of finally coming, bowed his back and made his head snap back as he came all over the bed and Dean's right thigh. He tried, in a daze of _fuckyeah_ not to come on Dean's dick, because he didn't want to risk any infection, he was very careful not to touch the catheter or his brother's dick. He would kill himself first than cause Dean any kind of complications from this.

But fuck it was so hard to aim his come to the bed, his stomach and his brother's thigh, especially when all he could see was spots dancing behind his closed eyes and hear the rush of blood in his ears.

His eyes snapped opened and through his swimming vision he locked his gaze with Dean's: "Dd-dean…" he whispered and surrendered his love to his big brother, falling sideways, gripping the pillow with his hand to stop himself from leaning all his weight on Dean's thigh. He just had to rest his forehead against the side of Dean's knee, panting and blinking away the sweat that had spilled down his forehead. He licked at Dean's knee and kissed it, dragging his lower lip up until it snapped off of Dean's skin.

"Sammy…"

He was still catching his breath after coming so damn hard, the hot come running down his stomach, drying on the bed, when Dean's previous words finally managed to penetrated the fog of _fuckinghellthatwasgood_.

Sweaty hair fell into his eyes in chunks, his whole body vibrating and he knew his brother's body was humming for some kinda release too. He tore his eyes from Dean's and slowly looked down at his own chest; there was cooling come running down his abs, dripping down to the sheets and when he looked at Dean's thigh, he saw two streaks of white there too.

He swallowed and tried to find his voice, but all he could manage was a nod and a whisper: "Yeah you can Dean, you're doin' so good."

"Ppp-lease."

He wanted to stay in the feeling of coming and being sated and relaxed, but Dean was there, pleading, begging, crying, writhing, moving his distended belly as if offering it to the heavens would make it all stop.

It wouldn't.

Because it was all in Sam's hands, when he'd stop the flow, when he'd suck the water out of the balloon in Dean's bladder, when he'd pull out the rubber tubing ... if he would even do that at all.

That would have to be Dean's choice. The choice would be a double edged sword, but Sam knew Dean was good at swallowing those down.

"Ssssammy, uhhhhh, ah, fff-fuck, shhhhh-it, ahhh, hurtsss."

Dean's hands were fisting the pillow behind his head, stretching his body even more that way, putting even more pressure on his full bladder and Sam smiled. Dean would never learn, but then again, Sam wouldn't make it easy for Dean to learn either.

"You can and you will, you're doing so good, brother. So fuckin' good," he whispered and ran his come covered palms up and down the watermelon sized bulge in Dean's stomach, just imagining how much Dean's bladder must be screaming, how heavy it must be inside of him, Dean's muscles telling his brain to _damnpissalready whatthefuckareyoudoing!_ Just how much pressure there must be in there, how achy it must feel, pins and blunt needles. He could only imagine; while he went through his fair share of long drives, Dean or his Dad had always stopped when he needed a bathroom break. And later he just learned to go before going anywhere – well, until earlier today. But watching Dean be like this; so desperate, in such agony to be released from this torture … it made Sam itch to know how it felt. But just watching was making his spent dick twitch and get half hard again.

Fucking hell.

He rubbed his come into Dean's skin, being careful not to touch Dean's cock and the tube running out of the slit. He wanted to mark his brother like this, mix his spit with his come, mix Dean's sweat with everything that was Sam and leave it all on Dean to dry up or be swallowed up by the pores.

Dean was his and he was Dean's. It was what Heaven had said – soulmates.

He rubbed the cooling come all over the inside of Dean's thigh, loving the feel of the hair there prickle his palm, loving how his brother's muscles twitched under his palm, loving how the come made the sensitive skin shine in the pale light. He had to taste … he leaned down and kissed where his hands had just been, licked a stripe of skin and groaned when Dean tried to close his legs with a whimper. He couldn't have that, so he cupped Dean's knees and pushed his legs back down on the pillows: "C'mon Dean …"

He kissed his brother's bladder that was bulging out from underneath Dean's skin, stretching it, making the freckles and the treasure trail stand up just ripe for Sam's tongue and teeth.

When he licked around Dean's navel and dipped a finger in while spreading his other palm all across the watermelon sized bulge, he smiled at Dean's: "Saaaaaam!"

It was so good to have Dean be vocal, to have Dean completely fuckin' losing it, to have Dean at his mercy, to see Dean let it all out, to see his big brother mewl and cry and have his walls crumble into fine fuckin' dust.

A car drove by their room, flashing bright headlights even through the thick curtain and illuminated Dean's body for a second. A light more powerful than the measly lamp they had turned on and Sam saw how wet Dean's hair was, how much his arms were straining to hold on to the pillow and not rip it, how wet his lips were, how his face was scrounged up in a grimace – pain or pleasure, Sam couldn't tell – how wildly Dean's heart was beating.

It was like looking at the sun and having it wave at you, not burn your eyeballs out. Dean was all power and this close to exploding like a volcano.

The only thing holding him back was … Sam. Sam's orders, Sam's punishment, disappointing Sam, disobeying Sam, letting Sam down.

"Ssss-am, p-p-ppplease, uhhhhh, ggguh, can't, fuckin' h-hhh-hurts, aaaah, owowowow S-s-sammy."

His brother could never disappoint him; anger him, yes, piss him off, for sure, make him sad, oh yeah, but disappoint him? Hadn't happened yet, probably never would.

Even his begging wasn't a disappointment, because Sam'd been expecting it. Dean had lasted for a long time on that sweet, sweet edge of _enoughnotenough_ , and Sam was proud for that. Sure, Dean would have to be punished for that, but … it would be a punishment Dean would chose for himself.

"It's okay Dean, 's okay, 's okay…" he swirled his tongue around Dean's hip while moving across Dean's left leg so that he could kneel by his brother's left side.

"Hey, hey … you wanna safe word?" he whispered into Dean's open mouth, before kissing him; tongue and spit and teeth clashing and whimpers that were swallowed by them both.

He trusted Dean that he'd safe word anything, even punishment – especially after the punishment he received when he hadn't safe worded when he wanted to.

"Sss-sammy …"

He placed his palm on Dean's forehead and pushed his head back, exposing the long line of his brother's goosebumped neck: "Okay then stop begging. What did I say about that, huh?"

"Sam …"

He chuckled at the tremble in Dean's voice and kissed the hollow of his throat, wanting to feel the vibrations of his name on his lips.

"Say my name…"

"Sammy…"

The vibrations made him groan and his lips go almost numb so he licked at them, before going back to Dean's.

The moan Dean released when their lips parted made his dick jump up where it was lying spent and limp again on his thigh.

He ran his right hand up Dean's left one until he came to his fingers that were gripping the pillow in a tight fist. He uncurled them and intertwined them with his in a tight, sweaty grip. He knew that without a steadying grip, Dean would've gone too far into his head, too far into places Sam never wanted Dean to go, places he wasn't sure he'd be able to drag Dean out of. This was not about that. This was simply about …

"Did you learn your lesson?"

Dean nodded.

"Tell me."

"Sam?"

Sam chuckled. Good boy.

"Good boy. C'mon, you can say it."

"Always stop when … when you s-say s-stop…"

"Good, yeah, so good." He whispered while licking the warm, stretched skin of Dean's stomach, tasting his brother's sweat and his own come, but most of all, underneath his tongue he could almost feel all of that liquid sloshing away inside Dean's bladder. He pressed his fingers into the side of the bulge, making Dean hiss in a sharp breath and eliciting a sob from those red, bitten and kissed lips. He stopped pressing in, but he couldn't stop licking the skin, licking right above where he knew Dean ached the most right then, where all of Dean's focus was right then, where everything was coiled tight, ready to snap.

He looked up at Dean and saw him stuffing the soft pillow into his mouth with his right hand, probably trying to muffle the sobs, but they still filled the room. Just like his hisses and grunts and the sound of Sam's tongue sliding in and out of his navel.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy pleaseplease, uhhh, uh, ahhh, urgh."

"You're not following orders, Dean. Safe word or shut up!"

"Saaaaaam!"

He scrambled back to lay between his brother's wide spread legs, eyes falling directly to Dean's dick where the catheter was hanging out of the slit. He stopped the flow with a few clicks, but he was sure Dean hadn't heard that happening, not with the way he was whimpering.

Well … it would have to be a surprise then.

He straddled Dean's heaving chest - careful of all the tubes and the pillows, silently thanking all those yoga lessons – leaned forward and gripped Dean's shoulders: "What did I say about begging? What did I say about sayin' anythin' else but my name? Or your safe word? Say my name or I'll never let you piss ever again."

Dean's eyes were wide, leaking, eyelashes stuck together by tears and sweat, but underneath it all, there was lust and trust and love and beauty shining so bright, it nearly made him fall on his ass. He stopped himself just in time, because that would be bad, so bad, he's sit directly down on Dean's bladder and probably cause damage beyond repair. And he'd never, ever do that to his brother. He might make Dean crumble and fall, but he'd never hurt him.

"Sammy…"

His name was a hot breath against his lips and he stroked his thumbs in the little dips in front of Dean's shoulders, just a soft few swipes with his fingers.

"Yeah, 'm here."

"Sammmm …"

"Right here."

He nuzzled at Dean's jaw, kissed it all around, from ear to ear while his fingers slowly ran up and down Dean's biceps. The power in those arms, the strength, the way they held a gun or a knife … he shivered and had to lean closer to run his tongue down his brother's left arm – from shoulder to the bend of the elbow. Those hands had protected him since he was a baby, had fed him, had carried him, had hit him … had pulled him closer or pushed him away, but they always, always held on tight.

"Sam…"

"I…" _love you so much_.

There was no need for those words to be spoken, not out loud, not ever. The words existed in them and there was no demon, angel or the Devil himself that could erase them.

"Sam…" _love you too._

The sigh of his name made him hide his face in the crook of Dean's neck and allow himself and Dean a second, just a barely there second of _them_. This might be punishment, but they were still them; Sam and Dean and the world could go fuck itself.

"Sam…"

He loved the sound of his name coming from his brother's mouth; especially if it was growled out, husked or croaked, how the three letters broke like a wave on a serrated rock.

"'m here, 'm right here. You're learning so beautifully."

For a moment he thought that he could make Dean suck him; his half-hard dick was already practically shoved right up into Dean's face, just one move and he'd be able to push it right into that hot mouth, but no.

This wasn't about that and they could do that later - tomorrow or in six hours - so he carefully, as carefully as he could, moved back down to kneel between Dean's wide open legs. Dean's dick was limp and shiny with lube and he ached to taste it, just one lick, but no. He wouldn't risk it. Nothing would probably happen, but with their shitty luck, everything would happen. So no, he wouldn't touch it or taste it. But he would devour it with his eyes and he could tell, that just him watching made Dean wanna run away and hide and probably never come out. Not even to eat.

He smiled: "No hiding, Dean."

"Sam…" _fuck you.._

"Yeah, no, I'd rather fuck you."

"Saaaam…"

Breathing hot air on the cooling spit he just left pooled inside Dean's bellybutton, he chuckled at Dean's whine and slid up his brother's chest with his tongue, right in the middle of the sternum, up his neck, biting softly at Dean's Adam's apple until he could look straight into Dean's eyes again. He loved looking into them, how wide they were open, how big they were, how the lashes were clumped together by moisture, how the pupils were so dilated all the green was gone, how flushed Dean's cheeks were, how bitten and slick his lips were, how his whole face screamed pain, but underneath it was pure hot pleasure.

He slid back down, careful of the tubes and Dean's cock, and pressed a kiss on his brother's left inner thigh, while stretching his arm up and pressing his index finger on Dean's trembling bottom lip: "Get it really wet, all right?"

Dean was good at that, licked and sucked and coated the finger with spit as if his life depended on it. In a way it did.

Sam's cock was twitching again, trying to fill up just by how hot Dean's mouth was around his digit, how slick and wet Dean's tongue was while licking the skin. He really should've made his brother suck him.

He pulled the finger out with a groan from Dean and slowly and carefully slid it down Dean's balls, down the sensitive skin behind them all the way into Dean's asshole, pass the rim, straight towards Dean's prostate.

The noise Dean made when the finger touched the nerves was animalistic, a wounded animal fearing for its life, hitting the bars of its cage, trying to escape even at the cost of its death.

A butterfly trapped in a bottle and losing its wings.

He gently tapped the bundle of nerves once more and carefully withdrew his finger.

"Wanna fuck you so bad right now Dean," he roamed his hands and lips over Dean's stomach, "watch you try and take it all. My cock and the liquid right here," he tapped the finger that'd just been in Dean's ass over the tight bulge and his brother whimpered, tears running down his cheeks in earnest now. No hiding anymore, dams broken, lakes spilling, rivers flooding.

It was magnificent. It was the most stunning sight Sam had ever seen and he had seen a lot.

His brother was a tough son of a bitch, could take down anyone and anything, could get sprayed with blood and guts and make a joke of it, could chop off heads and cut out hearts, shoot straight and stab where it counted, take pain and then some, but … there were different kinds of pains, different kinds of breaking a person, different kinds of breaking points.

A gentle touch.

A soft caress.

A well placed word.

A well placed right word.

A look. Watching and seeing.

"Ssss-sam …"

"But I won't today, some other day yeah. Some other day when you won't take this much."

"Ssss-saaaammy, Sss-sam, samsamsamsamsam…"

"You're okay, s okay. 's all right, I gotcha, Dean. I gotcha."

Dean's skin was warm and stretched and slick with sweat and Sam's come and the taste was addictive, but this had to end. Any more and Dean could get injured or sick and that was not what this was about, Sam would never forgive himself if something would happen to Dean.

"Okay, okay, punishment is over. 's over. You did good, so good, Dean, you did so good."

He ignored the gasps that came from his brother. Relief.

It was all over now.

"'s all over now. It's over. It's done. It's okay. Easy now, just take it easy."

"Sammy…"


	4. Chapter 4

**PART 4 ( NSFW ART HERE!**)

Sam's words were a cool breath on his overheated skin, on his come and spit and sweat covered skin and he trembled all over. His whole body was drenched, leaking … except not where he wanted it the most. He had to go take a piss so badly, he'd probably rival any race horse in a pissing contest.

Sam's touches were becoming too much, his whole chest and thighs were oversensitive, just one more light caress and he'd have no choice but to scream. He never knew, never even thought how simple touching, simple caresses could make his whole body thrum, vibrate with such need it was … it was like he was lying on magic fingers. That's how it felt; he was shaking all over, even if the mattress underneath him was still.

"Sam…" he whined and squeezed Sam's fingers that found their way back to his in a very tight grip. He was way past feeling embarrassed, humiliated, mortified, way past feeling awkward, way past feeling anything else but how strangely his bladder settled down with just some pins and needles, from time to time. He didn't even feel much, just this numbness there, as if the nerves and muscles just settled for this position and gave it a rest. He knew his bladder was full, he could damn well see how obscenely it was bulging out of his stomach, fucking hell, he could barely see his dick, and he needed to piss. So badly, so so so bad.

"Okay, Dean … Dean, hey man look at me. Look at me, right here, hey."

He had trouble focusing on Sam, could see him sure, in all his naked glory, with cut abs and hips and those pecs, nipples hard peaks and his cock laying on those muscular thighs, but he couldn't really … focus. He couldn't stop blinking and quite get the moisture out of his eyes.

But he tried. He did.

His breathing was sharp and ragged; wheezing to the point of seeing tiny black spots in the corner of his eyes. Sam had done this to him, Sam had touched him and looked at him and filled him up to the point of fuckin' breaking at the seams. He was tearing up, cracking and spilling and Sam did this to him.

Oh God, Sam had cuddled him to death.

He'd laugh at that, if his lips and tongue weren't feeling numb or if his brain even knew what laughing was anymore. He was limp and flyin' high and all he needed were Sam's hands back on his body. He needed those fingers to never stop touching him, never let him go.

"Okay, listen, we're gonna go to the bathroom, all right? 'm gonna help you, just lean on me, 'm gonna help, all right?"

He didn't want to get up, didn't want to shift anything inside of him, especially not all that liquid filling him up. He shook his head no and then barely stopped himself from slapping his own face. You don't say no to Sam. What the fuck?

"'s okay, Dean. Punishment's over, you can talk. Say no, say yes, tell me to fuck off, it's fine, but we have to go to the bathroom."

"Can't … can't get up," he shook his head, "I can't Sam."

He couldn't get up, he could feel all the water in his bladder, or what the fuck ever Sam had filled him with, up in his throat. He couldn't get up, he'd burst.

"Dean, you will. It's just three steps, all right?"

Of course it was only three steps, but three steps too many.

"Sam…"

"Come on, straighten your legs," he felt Sam's strong, broad palms grip – touch, oh yessss touch - his calves and pull. The muscles protested and he hissed at a cramp he could feel starting to form, but Sam was there. Sam was always there, massaging his calves and his thighs, chasing away any and all cramps that wanted to develop. Touching. Touching and making him fall again.

"Good, 's good, now let's get you up. I already unhooked everythin', so just slide on your side, and three steps, Dean. Just three."

Those three steps were torture, when the liquid in his bladder shifted and nearly pulled him down on the ground, but Sam was there. Sam was always there, supporting him with his right arm around his shoulders and the palm of his left gripping his hip, steadying him, so that he wouldn't face plant. That would be awkward, he'd probably send his bladder into his spine and it would explode there. Not cool.

 

  
His legs were wobbly as if he'd never walked before, so he shuffled those three steps wincing and shuddering all the while. The pressure was intense, pain on just the right side of _pissnowfuckerpissfuckingdamnit_ , and he leaned on Sam's chest when they finally, finally made it to the toilet.

It was right there. Right in front of him, salvation and the end to all of this. He had learned his lesson, he'd never ever do it again, he would stop the car when Sam would say 'stop the car, I need to take a leak'. He would, so help him God and the Devil and the Pagan Gods and all other fucked up fuckin' things. He would.

"All right, Dean, just lean on me, 's okay. 'm right here. You listenin' to me?"

He licked his lips and leaned more on Sam, letting his little brother take all of his weight, hissing when Sam's hand came to rest directly over his throbbing bladder. It wasn't pressing in, but it wasn't a light touch either. It made him moan and rest his head on Sam's shoulder, seeking warmth and his brother. He just wanted to feel his little brother, there. He hid his face into the crook of Sam's neck, just like Sam had done before and breathed in.

_Sammy …_

He licked the skin there, making Sam moan, and kept on licking even if he had no more spit to slick the way. He wanted to leave a hickey there, wanted to mark Sam just like his brother marked him.

"Dean?"

"Yeah…" he breathed out and kissed Sam's shiver away.

"In or out, Dean?"

And wasn't that a loaded question. If he said in, Sam would leave the catheter in and he could piss like a horse and be done in a few minutes. But if he said out … it would burn. Burn so bad to piss, it would probably take him a few hours to get rid of all the liquid.

"'s this … 's this punishment, 'cause I didn't just … just say your name? 'cause I … I begged?"

"What do you think?"

The hand splayed across the tight, tender skin of his full bladder pressed in and Dean hissed and winced and groaned and sobbed out a silent: "Fuuuuucking bitch!" right against Sam's neck, right against the vein there. Right where Sam's life was running … where Sam was alive.

He was fucked. And he would burn.

"Out."

"'kay."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Shit. But it was too late now to change his mind, because Sam was already kneeling before him with gloves on and a syringe, deflating the balloon. Sam was multitasker extraordinaire. The little bitch of a geek. Or maybe he just lost some time there, floating on a high of having Sam there.

"Grip my shoulders, don't fall, all right?"

He placed his shaky hands on Sam's strong shoulders and leaned forward. Sam wouldn't let him fall. Not like that.

"Gonna pull out now, all right? Deep breath … let it go. That's it, 's it."

The yellow tube came out of his dick slowly, making him hiss out for as long as the tube was sliding out of his urethra.

The water or whatever – he should ask Sam, he really should - followed behind the tube a second later but he didn't have enough strength to grip his dick and aim. But Sam was there, Sam was always there and his brother's hand was steady; gentle, firm grip and he breathed out when he felt piss all but shoot out of his dick, hit the porcelain and then the water in the toilet.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, ahhhhhhhh, fuckin', fuck …"

"You good? 's good?"

Sam was behind him again, supporting all of his weight, breathing down his neck, kissing and licking his right earlobe, the side of his neck, sucking at the pulsing vein there and Dean was in heaven. He never knew that pissing could feel almost like coming. Maybe even better – well right now it felt better than coming.

"Ohhhhhhhgodohgodohhhhhhfucking feels so good…"

"You did so good, Dean. 'm so proud of you."

Dean wanted to hide from those words. He didn't do good; he begged, he broke the rules, he didn't just say his brother's name like he was supposed to. He broke an order, a straight order even a child could follow. He broke it, he broke down, he caved in to the pleasure and the pain and Sam's touch and … just Sam.

"I didn't…"

"You did. You were … you did, all right? Believe me, trust me, you did. And you learned your lesson, right? Learned it and you'll never do it again, right?"

"Yeah …"

Yeah he had. And no, he wouldn't.

"Good, so, so, so good, Dean … just let go now, okay. 'm right here, 'm not going anywhere."

Sam's hand was becoming heavy as a rock on his belly, the other one was still supporting his dick and Dean let go. Sighed and leaned back into Sam, trying hard to feel Sam's heartbeat on his back, feel Sam's breaths and words on the side of his neck and let go.

It didn't last long, not really. He pissed for as long as he could and as much as he could, but he knew that some of the – stuff - was still inside of him, still in his bladder it was just that his muscles would need to unclench some more for it all to be released. Maybe in a few more minutes, maybe in a few more hours.

"You done for now?"

He nodded and licked his lips, licked the sweat that started to bead on his upper lip.

"Okay, you wanna go back to bed?"

"Yeah…"

Three steps again and he stood by the bed, while Sam got rid of the pillows and the coat rack from which the 'water' bag was hanging from. He hadn't even noticed that, he was … first too mesmerized by the fucking tube sticking out of his dick and then by his bladder screaming at him and most of all, by his brother who quite possibly kissed, licked and ran his hands over every inch of his front. Except his cock. Sam never touched that.

His brother even came all over his thighs. He looked down and yeah, there was still some specks of come there.

"Sam…"

"What?"

"You came?"

"Man, you were … soooo … yeah, I, uh, I came."

Well, fine then.

He plopped himself on the mattress for all of two minutes - kinda sulking, really - while Sam took care of everything - _taking out the trash_ – and then was up again and running to the bathroom just in time for the first spurt of piss not to hit the floor. He'd not be cleaning that up.

There was a slight burn, but nothing he couldn't handle so he used that and tried to squeeze out as much as he could. Which wasn't all that much, really, and he tried to hide his disappointment when he flushed the toilet and came back to bed. Right into Sam's open arms.

They were both as naked as the day they'd been born, flush skin and flaccid cocks and Dean wouldn't want it any other way. Sam's arms were strong and his body was warm and his words were whispered.

"You okay?"

"Yeah… just … ya know … still gotta piss some more."

"I know. You did good Dean, so hot squirming on the bed."

He hid his face into the dip of Sam's throat and breathed in. It was Sam. It was always Sam.

They laid there on the bed for some time, not cuddling, 'cause they didn't do that … just laid there, touching and listening to each other breathe. Listening to each other be alive.

"Son of a bitch, gotta take another leak."

He was off the bed like a shot, already aiming his dick to the toilet even if he was still three steps away from it. Thank you Sam, for moving the bed closer to the bathroom door.

He knew it would burn, but _fuuuuuck_ , he didn't know it would burn this much.

"Shit, ohhhhh you son of a bitch ..."

"Come on…"

Sam was suddenly there, right at his back. Sam was always there at his back – always have your back, Dean – and his brother's hand was over his belly again, only this time his bladder was sort of back to its usual size, no longer bulging out.

"Sammy… son of a bitch, ugh…"

"I gotcha, 's okay, man."

His brother's hand was keeping a steady pressure on his bladder, stroking left and right, up and down, fingers sliding down to the base of his cock, just moving gently in the pubes there, scratching at the sensitive skin.

He wanted to stop the flow of piss, but his muscles weren't strong enough, no matter how much he tried clenching them. It made the flow lessen, but it didn't stop. He wanted to stop, but it seemed as if all that water was a force of nature and there was no stopping it. It wanted out, no matter how much Dean's urethra was burning.

Damn fucking catheter.

Stupid fucking punishment.

Damnit.

He gritted his teeth, leaned back on Sam's chest and cursed his way through it, digging his fingers into Sam's forearm.

"Do you wanna sit down?"

Fuck no, he wasn't a chick.

"Fuck no, 'm not a chick."

And if he'd sit down, he wouldn't be able to feel his brother have his back.

He'd been through so many things, so damn many, but this … being this naked, being this bare, doing this with his little brother supporting all of his weight, having his little brother fucking hold his dick for him to piss … it filled his heart with so much trust he stumbled and would've fallen forward and cracked his skull open on the toilet, if Sam hadn't caught him.

"Dean, whoa, 's okay … hey, man … just breathe through it, all right?"

The words were followed by a caress over his belly, fingers sometimes pushing into his navel, sending little shocks of pleasure down to his still pissing cock and making him groan.

"'s okay, 's all right. Hey, hey, hey Dean, 's okay."

"Fuckin' ahhh, burrrrrns …" he gasped because yeah, it burned. He knew pain, had his share of it in all possible variations, but there was just something about _this_ burn that made him wanna cry and scream. It was coming from inside him, from his most private parts, from somewhere that had no right to ever hurt …

"I know, I know, I know it does."

"Fuck, nnnnnnhhhh, bitch."

Then Sam's hand was gone from his belly and his back got hit by warm air, but before he could turn around and see what his brother was doing, there were hands on his lower back, splaying over his kidneys, rubbing at the warm skin, lips and tongue all over his lower back and he whined at how good it felt. How good it shouldn't feel, because he'd been bad, broke the rules, disobeyed.

But learned his lesson anyway.

Then Sam's fingers pushed his ass cheeks apart, opening him wide for Sam's tongue.

"Ohhhh sssshit…"

That didn't burn at all.

He could feel his bladder was emptying, he could feel his muscles becoming relaxed, finally, too relaxed under Sam's probing tongue and fingers, the desperation in his veins finally coming to a stop when the last drop fell into the toilet and he sagged back into his brother.

Trusting Sam to be there carrying his weight. Sam was always there.

"Whoa, all right, you're okay, come on, let's get you back to bed and see if we can make you come. I think you deserved it."

He wasn't sure he'd be able to get it up. He wasn't sure how fucking much that would hurt – hot come shooting out of his abused urethra. But Sam was determined and had that look in his eyes.

Fuck.

He was fucked.  
  
 **The End**

**A/N: Thank you for reading and if you decide to comment, please be nice (because I'm so nervous right now, I'm gonna puke) ... that's all I ask; you can tell me the whole story sucked and it was all stupid and all, just please say it in a nice way, ya know ... "hey this was okay, could be better, but it was okay." :) :) Or something ... or not. Ummm *runs away to hide in a corner***


End file.
